


Don't Move

by Anonymous



Category: Genghis Khan - Miike Snow (Music Video)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blood, Bondage, Dom sub undertones, Knifeplay, M/M, Power Dynamics, Vague DubCon, goes with the knifeplay, i made secret agent's name a pun, uh, very slight, wait when did this get kinky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sphinx is getting overconfident, John doesn't like that.A vague songfic for Don't Move by Phantogram





	Don't Move

**Author's Note:**

> Phantogram is touring with Miike Snow and therefore it is my god given duty to write this. Song for the fic is [ here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ur17pfjIRVo)

_I'm not your nervous feeling_  
_Each time we say goodnight_

Bind had been in the room for an unknown eternity. His throat was dry, his stomach was empty, his muscles were starting to ache from the abuse he had put them through, and he was so unbearably tired. He had expected the information extraction would be simple, but he should have realised that nothing to do with Sphinx would ever be easy. He sighed, allowing his head to loll back. He would have to wait, draw the man out and tease his plans from him so subtly, so artfully that he would not notice. It was good that he liked challenges.

When John closed his eyes, it was for the sheer novelty of seeing something other than the unceasing dull grey of the ceiling, the walls, the whole damned room. He would have to be at his best if he wanted to succeed — if he wanted to get out of here alive. His body prickled with fatigue and he allowed his muscles to relax, sweet waves of exhaustion washed him deeper and deeper into the dark, until he was on the crumbling precipice of sleep, ready to fall — before being pulled back abruptly by a soft succession of taps, an echo that slowly and inexorably grew louder and more distinct. It was the staccato sounds of footfalls — Sphinx had finally decided to arrive.

He heard the creak of the door as it opened, experienced the vague instinctual sensation of being watched, felt the man stand right behind him so that the rough material of his coat brushed against his hair. He did not open his eyes.

“It’s rude not to say hello to your host;” Sphinx admonished, “after all, I worked so hard on making sure you were comfortable. Feeling snug?”

He felt the man move towards his side, felt him tighten his restraints even further so that even breathing was difficult. Sphinx was in a teasing mood. He did not move.

Sphinx stopped as though waiting for a response. John could feel his ire rise. “You’re so coy, you want it tighter, don’t you? You can tell me, I only wanting make you com-fort-able.” His voice taking on a sing-song quality as the ropes became so constricting John was sure his ribs would break. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe — his eyes opened.

Sphinx smiled, enraptured by the display of visceral, primal fear before him, at the panicked half-inhalations of his prize. The scar twisted his face into a parody of obscenity and enjoyment. “A bit too tight?” he laughed before finally loosening the bonds. John could see through the bravado.

Bind relaxed for a mere moment before struggling against the ropes tying him to the table with renewed vigour; deep, heaving breaths caused his chest to expand and contract visibly, he was still so desperate for air yet he did not let himself gasp. His fingers scrabbled against the smoothness of the table, trying to find the leverage necessary to break free. How many times had this happened to him? Far too many count in the years he had known this madman. It was unacceptable.

Sphinx bent forward, evidently enjoying the other man’s writhing, and his hands gripped the sides of the hard metal table.

Sphinx lowered his head. “Honestly Mr. Bind, it’s seems like you actually enjoy getting captured. You’re not even trying anymore. I have to admit I’m hurt, this little game isn’t very fun unless both of us are playing.”

The last word was whispered against the soft skin below John’s left ear, lips barely grazing his earlobe, hot breath on his neck. A frisson ran across his spine, a jolt that demanded he rectify the situation: reassert control and take over.

“Don’t even bother, there’s really nothing you can do now.”

Bind merely raised an eyebrow in response, he had a knife in the inner lining of his cuff, just waiting to be used, to be pushed through pliant skin and flesh and heart. Was Sphinx naïve enough to even think that he was truly bound and helpless? Was that why he leaned forward so brazenly, as if he knew his prisoner could do nothing to harm him, not even when John was close enough to count each individual eyelash, kill him in more ways than he could possibly ever imagine? He felt a warm anger grow within him, descending like acid into the pit of his stomach, he was not a man to be dismissed like some wet behind the ears child.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Sphinx observed quietly after a few moments of watching his prisoner. “I suppose I have to admire your tenacity, futile as it is.” His condescension only fueled the fire within John further, it was like watching someone declare checkmate when there was a gun to their head and a sword against their chest. His plan changed, pride had eclipsed his sanity. His fingers clenched, almost imperceptibly.

“I’ll be out soon enough, you needn’t worry. I have a lot of practice.” His words dripped with venom and promise, his eyes blue suns that watched Sphinx move away with unwavering, predatory calm.

“Get tied up a lot then?” Sphinx quipped weakly, a minute tremor is his voice, before turning around to leave a little too quickly, feigning boredom and apathy but John knew.

“Only by you.” Bind said, smirking slightly, twisting his head backward to see the momentary falter in his enemy’s movements as he gripped the metal door handle, the soft shiver that went through him when the opening grew smaller and smaller and he thought Bind could not see, “I’m beginning to think that you don’t really like it.”

And John knew Sphinx had heard him.

* * *

 

John could hear the base power down, the vague hum around him had disappeared leaving him alone in the cold, encroaching dark. He sighed, undoubtedly he was being watched, but he knew that no guard could pay attention forever. He also knew that Sphinx would come back sooner rather than later and there would be no one monitoring them then.

He hated waiting, but it had always made success that much sweeter. John let his mind wander, his previous struggles had loosened his ropes by a mere fraction but it gave him just enough freedom to turn up his wrist and begin sawing at them, weakening them just enough that he would appear immobilised but could escape at any time. He still had to give the impression of vulnerability, as much as he disliked it.

The blackness around him grew thick and heavy, like a pall shrouding his body. He slept intermittently, his dreams were soft things that flitted in and out of existence: images of opulent gold glowing in half-light and the sense-memory of silk against his skin. He enjoyed fine things.

He awoke abruptly, the lights had flickered on and he squinted his eyes at the brightness before yawning languorously and loosening all of the tension in his body so that he lay soft and supine, the picture of serenity. He turned his face towards Sphinx, smiling predatorily.

“So you’ve come back then. Couldn’t stay away?” His voice was dark and sleep rough but the glint in his eyes betrayed his alertness. Sphinx was expressionless, staring at him with an almost arresting intensity.

“Just wanted to check if you were still here.” His voice was low and strained, raw with something John could not name.

“I haven’t moved.” John said, and stared pointedly down at the ropes holding him to the table.

“I don’t trust you, you’re lying.” Sphinx said suddenly before swaying forward as if to come closer, and then abruptly stopping himself. “Why are you still here?” He was slurring.

“Oh for this reason and that.” John said, still smiling. “Would you have rather have me blow up your base again?”

“That is your usual modus operandi.”

“It was getting a little boring, I thought we could play another game.” Sphinx was surprised by that, his eyes widened with comical confusion.

“You know I was waiting for it. Everyone’s been evacuated, every file has have been destroyed, there’s nothing left here.” His cheeks were reddened slightly — he was drunk. John only smiled wider.

“We’re still here.”

Sphinx frowned. “I hate you.” He said quietly, shocking himself with his vehemence, that he had even said that aloud. “I hate how you – how you—"

“—Ruin everything? Drive you to drink—?"

_“How do you know I’ve been drinking?”_

“—Kill your little henchmen? Wear away your sanity? Gain frankly unspeakable amounts of enjoyment from stopping you? I would think that there would be many reasons for you to hate me. But you don’t.” John said airily.

Sphinx was silent, studying John with newfound, almost feverish intensity. “So you know then.” He whispered, his voice sounded hollow.

“Know what? I’m not a mind reader.” John was growing impatient, his fingers were twitching with adrenaline.

“Why I drink.”

“I can take a guess.” John paused, before pushing himself forward ever-so-slightly. “Come closer.”

Sphinx cocked his head to the side. “I may be drunk but I’m not an idiot.” There was little inflection in his tone.

“That’s debatable, considering the amount of times I’ve managed to single-handedly escape from here.” John knew needling him was perhaps not the best idea but he had never had excellent self-control and it worked. Sphinx, foolish man that he was, had stepped closer, right beside John.

There was such deep anger in those dark eyes. “Fuck you.”

John launched himself forward, the ropes pressing sharply against his chest before finally snapping. His arm stretched out, and he grabbed Sphinx’s throat in one hand and his wrists in the other. Sphinx struggled feebly in his hold, his movements panicked and uncoordinated; the pulse in his jugular was wild and fast yet his responses drunken and slow.

John carefully manoeuvered him down onto the slab. He flicked his wrist so that the blade of his knife would drag teasingly against the fragile skin of Sphinx’s neck. Sphinx eyes widened at that. A deep juddering breath passed through him, the muscles in his throat fluttered against the sharp edge. A line of liquid red, small beads welled up against metal. Bind flattened the knife and slid it downwards so that a gradient formed, red to white, blade on skin, palette knife on canvas.

 _You picture buildings burning to the ground_  
_From the basement to the streetlight_  
_I'm not your drinking problem_  
_A hole is in the sky_


End file.
